


in the safety of this house.

by redhoods



Series: widofjord week 2019. [7]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Widofjord Week, ambiguous backstories galore, empire fugitive caleb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 22:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19282744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: The figure, humanoid is all he can make out, jerks again, and their head lifts, smacking against the wall behind them.It’s just a man, human, eyes bright and wild in the flicker of the firelight and flashes of lightning. The man doesn’t answer, hair plastered to his face and scalp from the water, shoulders trembling visibly, and Fjord’s shoulders loosen a little, against his own volition.“Help,” is all the man says, then hits the floor like a sack of potatoes, unconscious in the puddle of water.





	in the safety of this house.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh like an alternate first meeting where caleb makes it to the coast, being chased by empire thugs?
> 
> for widofjord week day three - promises.
> 
> title from keep us by peter bradley adams.

Lightning splits the sky outside his cabin, the interior lit up in bright white briefly before it fades back to dim firelight. Thunder booms right on the heels of the lightning and his windows rattle in their panes.

Fjord curls his lip a little, resigning himself to little sleep with the chaos of the storm outside.

It’s that time of year though, the downside of choosing to live on the coast.

The storm outside continues to rage, drowning out whatever sounds Fjord himself might make as he prepares his dinner for the night. He doesn’t even hear the knock of his fork against his plate as he eats.

He’s just put his plate in the basin to wash in the morning when he can venture out and collect the rainwater when there’s a slam of noise. It’s not a storm sound, not unless something’s just smacked against the outside of the cabin, and he whirls on the spot, fingers curling in the air.

He doesn’t summon the falchion, has trained himself out of it, but he nearly does when he realizes what the sound was.

The front door of the cabin is hanging open and the lightning outside flashes again, backlighting a figure standing just inside the door.

Thunder drums and the figure lurches, jumping like whoever it is is frightened, and slumps in against the wall just next to Fjord’s door. Rain is pelting in from outside, dampening the floor and the figure is creating a puddle where it stands, water dripping steadily from the raggedy clothing that Fjord can just make out.

“Who are you?” Fjord calls over the thunder and rain.

The figure, humanoid is all he can make out, jerks again, and their head lifts, smacking against the wall behind them.

It’s just a man, human, eyes bright and wild in the flicker of the firelight and flashes of lightning. The man doesn’t answer, hair plastered to his face and scalp from the water, shoulders trembling visibly, and Fjord’s shoulders loosen a little, against his own volition. 

“Help,” is all the man says, then hits the floor like a sack of potatoes, unconscious in the puddle of water.

Fjord swears colorfully, lurching forwards then.

He leans out the door, getting soaked as he looks to see if the man is being followed. The rain is too heavy, too thick, so he ducks back in, shutting and properly latching the door. He’s pretty certain it’s the first time he’s ever done that since he moved out here.

Then he kneels down by the figure.

The man is soaked through, several layers of damp clothing obscuring any potential injuries.

Fjord swallows and wishes Caduceus were visiting already, then shuffles down to scoop the man up. He’s light, even as soaked as he is, and Fjord swallows back swathes of unfounded worry as he deposits the figure on his lumpy old couch.

Closer to the fire, he can make out more details.

Gaunt cheeks and long sooty eyelashes and barely there freckles.

He could be handsome, with some food, Fjord thinks a little hysterically, then curls his fingers in the air, eyes shutting as he focuses.

Water draws away from the man, away from his clothes, and Fjord opens his eyes so he can guide it, pulling water from the unconscious figure, himself, the floor, and guiding it through the air until it can slosh in the basin.

The magic dissipates and Fjord rubs at his breast bone.

The man hasn’t stirred though and Fjord is careful as he turns him onto his back, trying to be easy as he checks him over for obvious wounds. It takes him no time to find the issue, blood visible as soon as he opens the placket of the man’s coat.

He weighs his options for a scant minute, deciding privacy is a non issue if the man dies here.

It’s awkward maneuvering to rid the man of his coat and he hesitates when he finds holsters preventing him from removing the shirt. There are books strapped to the holsters and a small pouch as well.

The pouch reminds him of Caduceus and his tea, but Fjord highly doubts that that is what this stranger is carrying.

The buckles of the holster undo easily, indents in the leather indicating long use and he’s careful with the books as he sets it to the side, away from the fire. Curiosity takes a backseat to concern and he resists looking at them in favor of peeling the stranger’s shirt up.

He is just as skinny as Fjord had thought he’d be, stomach concave, ribs visible. 

And pale, so pale.

Fjord isn’t sure if that’s normal or maybe blood loss.

There’s a gash across his abdomen, almost spanning the full width of it. He can’t tell how deep it is, but it’s still bleeding.

He could use Jester or Caduceus something terrible right now.

Thinking of the ship, handling wounds when there was no magic readily available for it, he stands and goes to gather some supplies. A few rags, the thread and needle he uses for repairing his clothing, a mostly empty bottle of liquor from the last time Molly was around. Some bandages that must’ve come from Beau. An old towel that’s barely holding together.

He deposits those on the floor by the couch and he fetches one of his large pots, filling it with the water he’d magicked off their bodies. Hanging it over the fire, he turns back to the unconscious stranger and swallows thickly, “You can do this.”

It takes time for the water to warm, so he rolls his sleeves out and sorts his items out as best he can. He tucks the towel under the man even though his couch is probably already beyond saving.

He’d needed a new one anyways.

When the water is warm, not quite hot, he dampens one of the rags and starts to clean the wound as best he can, strokes gentle but sure.

The rag is saturated in water and blood by the time he’s done, but he can see the wound more clearly. Sparing a glance at the man’s face, he winces in sympathy before splashing some of the alcohol over the wound. The man makes a pained sound but doesn’t wake and Fjord breathes out carefully.

He takes a swig then pours more over his own hands.

His hands aren’t quite shaking when he picks up the needle and dips the end of it in the flames.

They become more steady as he threads it.

The thread isn’t made for medical uses by any means, so he knows he’s got to be careful as he knots the end of it. He prays quietly to whatever deity is listening that the man doesn’t wake up, then uses his fingers to hold the wound together.

It’s an unbearably slow process.

He’s never done this for anyone who wasn’t conscious enough to swear at him or bite down on something, and especially not on a wound this large. 

The man doesn’t wake, though he makes plenty of pained sounds, eyebrows drawn together severely even in his unconscious state. Fjord doesn’t stop though, movements slow and methodical, until the entire wound is stitched together.

It’s not the best work and the thread probably won’t hold for any sort of travel, but it will have to do.

He dampens another rag and does a gentle pass over the stitches and the skin around them. Stepping away, he cleans himself up in the basin, scrubbing blood off his hands, and trying to listen for the man’s shaky breathing over the storm.

When he returns to the couch, the man is still unconscious and he breathes out quietly. He doesn’t trust himself to be able to move someone so injured, not without worry about causing more damage. Instead, he covers him with the blanket on the back of the couch.

There’s no a single defining thing about this man that gives any indication as to who he is, nothing but the books, and even though Fjord’s fingers itch to thumb through them, to see what they contain... he refrains and isn’t sure why he does.

Instead, he hauls one of the chairs closer to the couch and settles himself in for an uncomfortable night’s sleep.

\----------

When he wakes up, it’s because his neck is aching and the itchy, crawly feeling under his skin that means he’s being watched. Fjord tries to stay casual about it, rolling his head, stretching himself out, jaw splitting in a yawn. Then he opens his eyes.

Crystal blue eyes are narrowed in his direction, but more importantly, there’s a hand held out in his direction.

There is fire drawing into the palm.

Fjord lifts his hands, “Whoa, whoa, slow down there!” He tries his best to stay calm, no sudden movements, “I patched you up last night. You gonna kill me in thanks?”

There’s not a flicker of change in the stranger’s face, but Fjord realizes he has his other hand pressed to his abdomen and there are beads of sweat on his temples, “Where are my books?”

Eyebrows drawing together, Fjord points with a finger to the books still in a pile with the man’s coat. The accent sounds distinctly Empire, which would make his hackles rise if he didn’t know the man probably wouldn’t even be able to lift himself off of the couch.

A hand still held out in his direction, the threat of fire lingering, the man starts to lean towards the pile, only to pull up short with a pained sound.

Fjord shifts forward in the chair, even if the stranger’s eyes snap right back at him, “I’ll hand them to you?”

The man blinks at him, expression going a little hazy with what must be intense pain and probably exhaustion, but he nods and doesn’t attempt to light Fjord on fire so he counts that as a victory, even if it’s a small one.

He knows the risk is still present as long as the stranger is. He moves slowly, ginger as he picks up the books still in the leather holsters, and passes them over into the man’s waiting hands.

They’re immediately snatched up and very nearly land on the stitched wound, but the man manipulates them with familiarity, wedging the books between himself and the back of the couch. His attention is no longer on Fjord, but Fjord still moves slowly and sinks back into the chair.

The stranger pulls the books out one at a time, flipping through the pages before replacing them very carefully. Then he turns his suspicious gaze on Fjord, “Why are you helping me?”

Fjord frowns, shrugs, “Seemed like the right thing to do?” He says, honest as he can be when he has no real other reason. “I’m Fjord by the way.”

This seems to take the man by surprise and he simply stares for several long seconds, jaw slightly unhinged, before he collects himself. His nod is precise, “It is... perhaps nice to meet you, Fjord.”

His accent makes the silent j far less silent and for some reason, that’s charming to Fjord in that moment.

“Do you have a name?” He hedges, gently, wanting to call him something other than ‘the man’ or ‘the stranger’ even in the confines of his own head.

There’s a long silence, where he’s not sure if the man is debating giving him his name or debating killing him, but Fjord waits it out with the patience of a sailor used to long trips on the open ocean with nothing to do but stare at the horizon and hope the next hour brought the sight of land.

Eventually, the man sags a little, “Caleb.”

It’s a ringing lie, even to Fjord’s ears.

He nods, “Nice to meet you, Caleb.”

Caleb turns an incredulous stare at him once more, searching for something that he must find because he nods as well.

—————

The first few days are relatively peaceful.

Relatively.

Caleb’s a fussy patient and Fjord threatens to toss him in the ocean almost every time he’s tending to Caleb’s wound, but otherwise, they get along decently well. 

He moves Caleb to his room under much protest, but the human really is in no place to argue with him, though he puts great effort into doing just that. His protests fall on the selectively deaf ears of someone with much experience dealing with Jester.

The wound shows no signs of festering or being infected, which Fjord counts as a heavy win, though it’s still a slow healing thing.

For his part, Caleb mostly stays in the bed, once he’s comfortable there, and looks through his books.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Fjord’s not sure what exactly it is he’s doing, but he knows enough to recognize spells when he sees them transcribed. Not that he knows anyone who uses magic in that fashion. He doesn’t ask about it though, leaves Caleb to his reading and goes about his days.

They are much the same as they had been before, though he takes care to not wander out of sight range of the house. He still manages to catch decently sized fish without having to take his little boat out and Caleb never complains that that’s practically all Fjord has to offer him.

He really needs a trip to town, but he doesn’t want to risk it.

He tells himself that he doesn’t want Caleb to try and get up while he’s gone and injure himself, but that’s only the partial truth. It’s hard to admit it, even to himself, but Fjord’s scared he’ll go to town and come back and Caleb will be gone, like he’d never been there in the first place. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d become until now.

—————

Around the fifth day, things go bad.

Fjord’s cleaning fish in the kitchen and listening to Caleb turn pages back and forth in his book across the house, when someone knocks on the door. The knife clatters to the board and movement from the bedroom stops.

Swiping the back of his hand over his forehead, Fjord breathes out when there’s another knock, “Just a minute!” He shouts and crosses to the bedroom door. 

Caleb is sitting wide eyed on the bed, pure terror on his features.

Fjord presses a finger to his lips and pulls the door shut, then walks to the front door. He takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back, and undoes the latch. Then plasters on a smile and pulls the door open, “Evenin’ folks.”

There’s two men at the door, one a little ways out towards the water. None of them are dressed in the style of the coast, they look like they were plucked from the Empire and dropped straight on Fjord’s doorstep.

The one at the front, dressed a little fancier than the others, smiles and it’s not a pleasant look, “Afternoon, sir,” he says, accent a few degrees off of Caleb’s, “Sorry to bother you on this nice evening, but we were hoping we could get your help.”

Fjord curls his right hand behind the door, keeping himself wedged into the space, blocking the rest of the house from view. The falchion comes easily into his hand, out of sight of the men, “Sure thing. Need directions?”

“We’re looking for someone actually,” one of the others speaks, a woman this time, her features harsh.

The man shoots her a look that Fjord can’t decipher and doesn’t care to, “Yes, we’re looking for a fugitive,” he says eventually. There’s a lie in the statement for Fjord can’t parse what the lie is exactly. “We have reason to believe he came this way. You haven’t happened to see anyone out of the ordinary?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Fjord says easily, “I spend most of my days out on the water and the storms at night don’t lend well to high visibility.”

The woman doesn’t seem to believe him, but the man in front seems to accept his statements.

The other figure keeps moving along the shore and Fjord can tell that he’s casting now, but can’t even begin to guess what it is he’s casting.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” The woman snaps, not quelling under the sharp gaze the man sends her, his gaze falsely apologetic when he turns back to Fjord.

He smacks his hand on the frame, just to see them both startle a little and carefully doesn’t look back as he sways forward a little, like he’s about to divulge some secret to them both, “Just my husband,” he answers, letting his accent thicken around the words, slowing, “He’s all laid up with a nasty bout of the flu. It ain’t pretty.”

Both of them lean back away from him, the woman scowling impossibly deeper.

Fjord tightens his grip on the falchion behind the door.

The man clears his throat, “Sorry to bother you then, we’ll let you get back to—“ then waves his hand at the house and takes several pointed steps away.

The woman stares at him a moment longer before turning away with a sneer.

“Good luck!” Fjord calls after them and doesn’t wait to see where they go before he shuts the door and bolts it. He’s already thinking about shoving the chair in front of it as he turns and leans his back against it.

And then nearly jumps out of his skin when he lifts his gaze to find Caleb standing in the bedroom doorway.

“Caleb!” He hisses, trying to wave him into the room with his empty hand.

His face is pale and he’s got one arm wrapped over his stomach, but he’s staring at the weapon in Fjord’s hand. “Do you even know how to use that thing?” He asks, after several minutes of just staring.

Fjord blinks in surprise and twists his wrist, swinging the falchion in simple movements. It’s been a while, but he doesn’t think it’s a skill easily forgotten, “I do,” he answers, looking back up to Caleb, “You really shouldn’t be standing.”

Then takes a step forward, tentative.

Caleb doesn’t back away, simply lifts his gaze to Fjord’s face, “You did not hesitate.”

“Uh?”

“To lie to them,” Caleb continues like Fjord hadn’t even interrupted. He sounds somehow upset, but Fjord doesn’t know what about, doesn’t know enough about Caleb to figure him out yet. He’s not sure he ever will.

Fjord rolls his shoulders and takes several more steps, closing the distance between them, “Course not.”

Caleb frowns at him, “Why? What if I were incredibly dangerous and they were on the right side of things?”

The falchion disappears from existence and Caleb only startles a little. Fjord slides an arm around his back, pulling Caleb from the wall, “Are you incredibly dangerous?” He asks, curious, as he leads Caleb into the room.

“I’m capable of it,” he answers, voice very small. There’s a soft pained groan out of him as he lowers onto the bed, but he gets himself comfortable, pulling the blankets almost to his chin, looking very young and very old all at once.

“So am I,” Fjord replies, “Lots of people are capable of being incredibly dangerous.”

Caleb scowls then.

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve done, I don’t know why they’re after you,” he says, “I won’t say I’m not curious about it either, but it’s your business, your secrets to keep. I’m trying to do the right thing for you, like some people did for me, and where you go from here is up to you.”

“Oh.”

Fjord hums gently and turns, “I’m going to go finish cleaning the fish and bar the door. Food’ll be ready in a bit,” he says, trying not to be too hasty about making his retreat.

“Fjord.”

He pauses at the door, turning to look at Caleb, who’s still tucked into the blankets, face and hands the only thing of him visible, “Yeah, Caleb?”

“Thank you,” Caleb’s voice is quiet again, unsure.

Swallowing, Fjord nods, trying to pull together a smile, “You’re welcome.”

—————

A few days after that, Caleb’s up and moving about the house, wandering everywhere in the small space, full of energy after a week of being laid up in bed. Not that Fjord can blame him, but there’s only so much in the house for him to touch, to do.

“Want to walk down to the water, clean up some?” He suggests from where he’s patching up a claw puncture he made in the couch the previous night. The storm had brought nightmares with it and he’s not sure if Caleb heard him from the bedroom yet.

Caleb looks wistfully at the door, “That would be nice.”

Fjord nods, leaving his needle and thread on the couch, and straightens out, already striding for the door. “Come on then, I promise I won’t look at your bits,” he says, unlatching the door and stepping out onto his small porch.

Behind him, Caleb barks out a disbelieving laugh, but strolls right by him, heading for the water.

In a small state of shock, Fjord watches on as Caleb unashamedly strips as he goes, buck ass naked before he even makes it to the waterline, his clothes a direct path to him through the sand.

Well, Fjord’s clothes.

They really need to go to the market now that Caleb’s feeling up to moving about. He’ll have to broach the subject later.

For now, he ducks back into the house for a towel and then follows the line of clothes, scooping them up as he goes. They could all use a good dunking in the water as well.

When he reaches the water, all that’s visible of Caleb is his head, as far out as he’s gone, but he seems comfortable, seems fine, so Fjord gives him as much privacy as he can. He sinks to the sand and rolls his own pants up to his knees before wading out enough to dunk the clothes.

Later, he’ll have to properly wash them so they don’t end up salt stiff, but this will have to do.

A splash gets his attention and he glances up to find Caleb’s come back closer to shore and is in the process of cleaning himself off. He shouldn’t stare, Fjord knows that, but he finds himself cataloguing Caleb anyways.

His pale skin and thin waist, the way his ribs are sticking out. His hair is curling up, no longer matted with sweat and mud and sand. Caleb’s handsome, he realizes quite suddenly.

Shaking his head at himself, he goes back to scrubbing the clothes in the water.

—————-

Later, when they’ve retreated back into the house and Caleb’s taken up a seat on the floor in front of the fireplace, Fjord thinks about the barren cabinets and clears his throat, “So I was thinking that maybe tomorrow, we could venture into town. Pick up some food, some clothes for you, that sort of thing.”

He doesn’t miss the way Caleb’s shoulders have tensed up tight.

“You don’t have to,” Fjord blusters out, “I don’t mind walking by myself, just thought you might like to get out for a bit,” and then clamps his mouth shut.

Waiting for Caleb’s response seems to take an hour, but that’s just him being overdramatic about it. “I appreciate the offer,” Caleb starts slowly, like he’s very carefully choosing his words, “But I do not think that is a wise idea and I do not wish to put anymore lives in danger than I already have.”

They haven’t talked about it, why Caleb’s running, why the Empire is chasing, but Caleb’s woken up from just as many nightmares as Fjord has. They don’t talk about those either.

“Okay,” he says quietly, not wanting to push, “I’ll try to go early and make it a quick trip. Anything you need?”

Caleb shakes his head immediately, though Fjord thinks he must want something. Then Caleb holds up one of his books, “I think while you’re gone I may...” he trails off and lowers the book.

Fjord waits for a while, but Caleb never says more.

—————-

That night, they argue over who’s going to sleep in the bed while Fjord changes the sheets and blankets. In the end, neither of them wins and Fjord threatens to sleep on the floor if Caleb sleeps anywhere but they bed.

They both end up in the bed at that, facing away from each other.

It takes Fjord ages to fall asleep, but he has no nightmares. It’s some of the best sleep he’s had in ages and he doesn’t think it’s just because he’s sleeping in his bed instead of on the couch.

When he wakes in the morning, he’s got a face full of ginger curls and his arm is asleep, because it’s pinned under Caleb. Who is half across his chest and sound sleep, face angled towards Fjord enough for him to see that Caleb’s mouth is open while he sleeps.

The drool is inconsequential.

Caleb wakes with a sudden jolt sometime later, face immediately flushing a dozen shades of red as he hastily backs away to his own side of the bed, “Sorry, sorry,” he nearly goes off the side of his bed in his haste.

Fjord laughs softly, “It’s fine, Caleb, calm down before your heart gives out,” he throws back the blankets and stands, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. So many joints in his body pop and crack before he resettles to get ready for the day.

He pretends not to notice Caleb watching him as he goes.

—————-

They have the last of his tea before Fjord decides he’s going to head out. There’s a storm brewing close and he doesn’t want to get caught up in the wet sand on his way back, “You sure there’s nothing you want?” He asks, watching curiously as Caleb sits with his book open on the floor.

He’s casting something, though he hasn’t explained what.

Fjord trusts him though, idly keeping an eye on Caleb as he laces his boots up.

Caleb doesn’t respond and that’s fine.

Just as Fjord is pulling coin out of his hidden compartment in the bedroom, he hears a _phomf!_ from the front room and there’s a discharge of magical static through the air. It’s like when he summons the falchion, but more.

He tucks the coin away, resettles the wall panel and steps into the doorway, only to stop short.

There’s a dome now taking up almost the entire front room, pale grey in color. Suddenly, Caleb pops out of it, his lower half still hidden in it. He’s smiling bigger than Fjord has ever seen, proud of him, “It worked!”

“What is it?” Fjord asks hesitant as he hedges closer.

Caleb reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him right through it.

The inside of the bubble is no different, it looks like he’s simply standing in his front room. There’s just a slight tinge where the outside of the bubble is, a hazy bit of grey that he only notices if he focuses, “You made a bubble?”

Caleb is still grinning as he pulls cushions off the couch to make himself what is turning into a small nest on the floor, “Only you and I can come in here. Sound can come through, but nothing else can.”

Fjord whistles lowly, “That’s mighty impressive.”

“It is a simple spell, really,” Caleb says, brushing the compliment off, though his smile is still in place and his cheeks are a little pink, “I have not had the energy for it until now.”

“Well, I will leave you to your magical fort,” Fjord says, pushing his hand through the outside of the bubble curiously, before he steps out completely to the door, “I’ll try not to be gone too long.”

Outside of the dome, he can no longer see Caleb, but he hears his hum and soft goodbye.

—————

The trip ends up taking him longer than he means for it to. Everyone wants to talk to him about something or another and it’s been so long since he’s actually come to town that he’d feel bad if he didn’t indulge a little bit. He doesn’t want to ruin his relationship with any of these people who’ve come to trust him.

He loads up on food, fresh bread and rice and some vegetables that will last a while longer, some fresh plums. Honey, a few other staples that he thinks Caleb might like. 

Picking out new clothes. in a size obviously too small for him gets him a few sly looks and a teasing jab from one if the old seamstresses. She laughs, good natured, when Fjord turns a ruddy brown and fumbles out a few lame excuses.

“Bring him around next time you come to town!” She calls to his retreating back.

His feet carry him to the town’s magic shop. He stares at the door for a long while, wondering how much business this place could possibly get in a small coastal town, but he knows the owner doesn’t really do it for the coin.

He pushes the door open, listening to what seems to be a dozen bells chiming through the place, and starts picking his way through the bookcases.

And promptly backs into one when he turns a corner and suddenly, the old man that owns the place is standing right there. They both freeze, ludicrously halted in place, holding their breath, but the bookshelf only wobbles a little without tipping.

They both exhale and then start snickering to each other.

The old man claps him on the arm, “Fjord, its been a long time!” He says and turns, Fjord following on his heels.

When they get to the counter, Harmon hauls himself up onto a stool and Fjord leans against it, “Seems like those bookcases are holding up well?”

“They’re doing their job,” Harmon agrees, though his gaze on Fjord is curious and searching. 

Fjord’s never been sure how much the old man knows, what he sees and what he doesn’t. He runs his hand through his hair, then breathes out, “Gotta a question, figure you might be able to help.”

That definitely gets Harmon’s attention, probably because Fjord’s never had any curiosity about anything magic wise. He waves a hand, a signal for Fjord to go on.

“I’ve got a friend,” Fjord says and ducks his head to ignore the smirk that the old man gives him, “Magic user, sorta like yourself with the fancy books and all. Got any idea what I might be able to give my friend?”

Harmon laughs, boisterous and easy, the sound echoing around the room, “Is this a special friend?” He asks and then waves a hand when Fjord starts spluttering at him. “Don’t hurt yourself. Your friend sounds like a wizard and I haven’t met a wizard that didn’t want ink and paper.”

“Ink and paper?” Fjord asks incredulously.

There’s shuffling and when Fjord glances, Harmon’s disappeared around one of the back shelves, “It’s special stuff! High grade! Can be pricey!”

Fjord snorts and Harmon snorts right after that.

He comes back around the corner with a small crate in his arms and thumps it on the counter in front of Fjord, “This’ll see your friend through a bit of spell work if they know what they’re doing.”

Peeking into the crate, Fjord realizes it really is fancy paper. There are bottles of ink as well and a few quills. Fjord scratches at his jaw and glances at Harmon, “How much?”

Harmon makes the face that he uses when he’s pretending to run numbers, “How about one-fifty and you help me rearrange later this month? Also some more of your fresh fish.” He holds his hand out over top of the crate.

Fjord squints at him then nods, taking his hand, “Deal.”

Then he counts out the coin and hands it over. It takes juggling for him to get all his bags and the crate, but he manages with a little help from Harmon is what feels like a lot of rope. Before he leaves, Harmon catches him by the arm, “Fjord, you should know. There were a couple of Empire folk asking around about you and about your, uh, husband.”

Sirens wail in his head. He swallows, “Yeah?”

Harmon nods, “Everyone I talked to said they covered, said you and your husband came into town pretty regularly.”

His shoulders sink.

“You’ve done a lot of good for this town and nobody is going to forget any of it anytime soon.”

Fjord musters a smile, trying to quash his worry, “Thanks, Harmon.”

“Go on home, surprise that wizard,” Harmon claps him on the back and laughs when Fjord hunches his shoulders up in embarrassment.

It’s a little passed lunchtime when he starts his way back to the house and he’s thinking about what he’s going to make for lunch, trying not to worry too much, when he realizes something’s wrong.

There’s a cloud of smoke in the distance, rising like a black smudge against the sky.

He sends up a prayer that it’s not the cabin, anywhere but the cabin, but as he gets closer, his prayers go unanswered. The smoke is coming from where the cabin is and he picks up his pace. He’s near running when the house starts coming into focus and it’s on fire.

There’s no way for him to drop everything, not with how he’s got it all trussed to himself and much as he loathes to, he slows to untangle it all, letting it down into the sand and then he’s free to run, summoning the falchion as he goes.

The whole cabin is engulfed in flames, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone outside.

He swings the falchion through the air, summoning water from the shore and hauling it to the cabin just as he comes to the edge of the wall of heat. It’s far too hot for him to go closer to it and it takes effort to keep pulling water.

By the time he’s even making a dent in the fire, he’s pouring sweat.

And then he sees it.

The edge of the grey bubble.

He almost collapses in relief, but pushes himself forward. The fire is still raging close, unbearably hot, and he pays it no mind, “Caleb!”

There’s no reaction for the bubble, but he’s got to hope that the bubble still being up means that Caleb is still alive in there.

“Caleb!” He roars over the fire and practically slams through the bubble. It’s still hot in the bubble, but the burning sensation immediately ceases. “Caleb!” He cries out in relief, but Caleb doesn’t seem to hear him.

He’s sitting on the unburnt cushions of his little nest, everything around him untouched. His eyes are glassy and unfocused and Fjord realizes that Caleb is somewhere else entirely.

There’s no telling how long the bubble is going to last though, so Fjord hooks his hands under Caleb’s armpits and hauls him up, “Come on, Caleb, you can’t stay here,” he says quietly, aiming for reassuring and not panicking.

He’s definitely panicking though.

Caleb doesn’t respond at all, so Fjord grabs his books and wraps them up in a blanket, tying it around himself like a sling for an infant. Then he scoops Caleb up, an arm around Caleb’s shoulders and the other under his knees.

It’s startling how easy it is to lift him, but Fjord isn’t dwelling.

The path that he’d made for himself isn’t going to stay clear for long so he forces himself out of the bubble, which immediately vanishes once they’re out of it. He coughs, the air thick with smoke, but presses on.

They clear out of the fire and he doesn’t think either of them are terribly burnt when he sinks them into the sand, close to the water’s edge. He cradles Caleb too him, rubbing his back, and watches the cabin succumb to the flames.

It’ll burn out eventually, there’s no where for it to leap past the sand.

It starts raining at some point, creating steam and the sounds of sizzling as the drops impact with the flames. He laughs a little hysterically into Caleb’s hair, curling around him like he’ll be able to shield him from all the rain.

He’s not sure how long they sit like that for, but he’s soaked through when Caleb finally moves.

“Fjord,” he croaks out, voice hoarse.

“There you are,” Fjord replies quietly, leaning back so he can look at Caleb’s face.

Caleb isn’t look at him though, he’s looking at the burning embers that remain of the cabin. His whole body tenses up.

Fjord frowns and gently tips Caleb’s chin so he can look at his face, “Are you okay?” He asks gently, “When I found you, you were a million miles away.”

“You’re asking if I’m okay?” Caleb asks, incredulous, like Fjord’s lost his mind. “Your home is gone and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

Dropping his hand from Caleb’s chin, Fjord nods, “The house can be rebuilt or I can buy a new one,” he says easily. It’s not as though he was overly attached to the place. “Can’t do that with you.”

Caleb makes a sound, like he’s being strangled, and curls in against Fjord’s chest with a quiet hiccup. It takes a minute for Fjord to realize that he’s crying, his shoulders trembling, so Fjord just holds him through, resting his cheek against the top of Caleb’s head.

When the shaking subsides, Caleb pushes away from his chest, planting himself in the sand, “I’m sorry about your home, even if you aren’t. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and—“

“Stop it,” Fjord says, not looking at Caleb, “Please don’t blame yourself for something else.” He pushes himself to stand, not bothering to try and brush the sand off. Hopefully the rain will wash it away. He points a finger at Caleb, “Stay put. I’m going to go get my gold and then we’ll walk back to—“ a sudden realization strikes him, “—aw shit, the stuff.”

He heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair, “Hopefully the rain hasn’t ruined everything I picked up. Anyways, I’m going to get the gold and then we can go to town and find somewhere to stay for tonight.”

Caleb is staring at him and Fjord swallows and starts trudging through the sand.

Everything is cinders now and he stomps his boots through it until he gets to where the one bit of his cabin isn’t burnt. The wall panel and the safe behind it remain, untouched by the flames. Magic’s good for some stuff, he thinks as he opens it up.

He hauls out the bag inside and turns to start walking back to Caleb. Carefully, he takes Caleb’s books out of the sling where they’re tucked to his chest and drops them into the bag.

Caleb has moved, closer to the edge of the fire, and squints at Fjord, “You saved my books.” He sounds accusatory again.

Fjord huffs and doesn’t bother answering, looping his arm around Caleb’s shoulders and steering him back towards the path to town and the place he left his purchases. Neither of them says anything as they walk, though Caleb does sink into his side.

When they make it to the pile, the crate seems completely untouched by the weather and Fjord silently thanks Harmon, especially at the weird noise Caleb makes under his arm.

“Surprise?” He says hesitantly and stoops down to check through the other bags. The clothes will be fine once they’re dry, but the paper bags the food is in did nothing to protect it. He dumps the clothes into the bag and looks to Caleb.

Caleb’s on his knees in the sand, staring down into the crate, looking like someone had smacked him across the face.

Fjord nudges him with a gentle knee, “You okay?”

“You bought this for me?” 

Leaning down, Fjord picks the crate up and waits for Caleb to rise before he starts walking. “I wanted to do something nice, maybe give you something to do.”

Caleb doesn’t reply and they’re both quiet for the rest of the walk.

—————

There’s only one inn in the town and it happens to hold the only tavern as well. To say that he and Caleb draw ample attention would be an understatement. Caleb immediately ducks behind Fjord like he’s going to be able to hide.

After everyone stares at them for a solid thirty seconds, he sighs, “Is somebody gonna offer us a room or do I gotta stand here dripping all damn night?”

Several people laugh and everyone returns to normal, though Fjord isn’t dumb enough to think they aren’t getting attention. He heads for the bar, meeting up with Milla as she comes around with a key in her hand, “Hey, big guy.”

He grins at her, “Where’s your grumpier half?”

“Fuck you, Fjord!” comes from the kitchen and he winks at Milla.

She holds out a key, “Biggest bed in the house,” she says and he hears Caleb’s quiet squeak from the direction of his shoulder. That gets her attention and she cranes her neck, peering up, “Hey there, handsome, I’m Milla. Lemme know if you need anything, we’ll take care of it. Friend of Fjord’s and all that.”

He can’t see Caleb, but he can feel him, tucking closer and the barely there, “Thanks.”

“Go the bathhouse,” Milla grouses at him as he tries to take the key.

He scrunches his nose at her, “We will before we get in bed, promise.”

She nods and hands it over before waving him off, “I’ll get you some food together.”

When he turns towards the staircase, Harmon is there with a tankard in his hand, squinting at Caleb who’s doing his level best to burrow into Fjord’s back, “Knew I should’ve gone with you back to the cabin, Fjord.”

“You know I don’t give a shit about that place,” Fjord points out, then turns a little, glancing over his own shoulder, “Caleb, this is Harmon, he’s the one that picked out this stuff for you,” he explains, hefting the crate under one arm.

That draws Caleb’s attention and he shuffles a little away from Fjord’s back, “Thank you for that then,” Caleb says.

Harmon scoffs and waves a hand, “It was no trouble,” his attention turns back to Fjord, “Is it gone?”

Caleb touches his back, this time more intentional, like he’s offering comfort.

Fjord nods, “Important stuff is fine, thanks to that safe you set up for me,” he glances at Caleb, “And some other magic.”

That sets him to blushing again, cheeks flaming to life. It’s a good look on him that would be better without the soot and sand.

“Well, I’m glad you’re in one piece,” Harmon says and claps him on the shoulder, “Go on, get yourselves sorted. Come by the shop in the morning, I’ll see if I can get you boys sorted out.”

No one else tries to waylay them on their way to the stairs and he knows the whole town will know what’s happened by morning. It’s fine with him, he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Harmon that all the important stuff was safe.

Caleb waits until they’re up the stairs, looking for the room indicated by the key, “Everyone seems to care a great deal for you.”

Fjord hums, “I help out where I can around town,” he answers, glancing over to Caleb, “I’ve saved a few of them from drowning, helped move furniture, make sure coin stays flowing.” He finds the right door and hands the key to Caleb so he can adjust the grip on the crate.

The door swings open and he whistles lowly, realizing that Milla hadn’t been kidding about the bed. Caleb waves him in and then follows, carefully bolting the door behind him. He seems hesitant after that, turning to the room and looking about like he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“Relax,” Fjord says gently and crosses the room, dropping the crate on the table and then the bag into the chair.

Caleb doesn’t move from the door, fingers twisting in front of him, “I’m realizing I don’t know much about you.” He looks curious, though Fjord’s not sure if it’s curious about him or curious that he’s just now realizing this.

Fjord hums, “Is there anything you want to know?”

That makes Caleb pauses, before he slowly shakes his head, “No. I’m curious, but you’ll tell me if you want, ja?”

“I will,” he agrees with a small smile.

Caleb moves then, bypassing the bed to go peer out the window, “What happens now?”

Fjord rubs his chin and joins him, slowly coming up to his side, “Not sure. I wouldn’t mind rebuilding the cabin. Or maybe building somewhere in town. What do you think?”

“Me?” Caleb turns to face him then and they’re very close now. The soot on his cheeks make his eyes look impossibly bluer. “Are you... you know that if I stay, I will always be a danger?” His eyebrows are dragging together, like he’s having a hard time believing that there’s anyway Fjord could want him to stay.

Hoping he’s not misjudging, Fjord cups his cheek gently, “I want you to stay with me, whatever it is we end up,” he says, very slowly, “And if - when - they come for you, we’ll take care of them.”

“Promise?”

Fjord kisses him instead of replying, a promise in its own right.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter and tumblr.


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